


A Year Of Dragon Age

by suilven



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Drabble Collection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-02-28
Updated: 2012-06-16
Packaged: 2017-10-31 21:03:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 17,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/348349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suilven/pseuds/suilven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A 100 word drabble for every day this year as my take on a Project 365. Various characters, situations, and genres.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Week 1

**Jan 1, 2012 – Left Behind**

Ser Pounce-a Lot awoke, leaping down from his favorite spot at the top of the food/mage/man's wardrobe. He sniffed at the blankets on the bed, pausing to rub the side of his face against them as he passed by. The food/mage/man had used to come and find him when it grew dark, stroking his fur sometimes long into the night… the nights he made Pounce's fur all wet. But, he had looked all over the Keep day after day and the food/mage/man was nowhere to be found.

He padded purposefully out of the room.

Maybe today he would find him.

* * *

**Jan 2, 2012 – First Lessons**

"This is where you will sleep and you are expected to keep your sleeping area tidy. Prayer service begins at dawn, followed by chores and then lessons. Disobedience will not be tolerated. The other boys will help you get settled."

She lied. The other boys did nothing to help.

His first few weeks were full of shame and fear as he was  _initiated_  into his role as the lowest-ranking boy, even though he was older than most of the worst tormenters.

Each night, he curled himself into a ball on the bed and wept, hating Eamon with all his heart.

* * *

**Jan 3, 2012 – 'Tis Foolish**

The noise and the overwhelming crush of people make her more uneasy than she would ever admit to.

She thinks she hides her discomfort well; forcing her muscles that shake with effort to  _run_ into a languid pace.

To her shock, it is the oaf who notices, and she steels herself for derision that doesn't come. Instead, when no one is looking, he squeezes her arm with a shy smile.

She yanks away and his smile falters.

Afterward, she is ashamed that she is no longer nervous about the city… not when she can think of nothing but his touch.

* * *

**Jan 4, 2012 – Softie**

"I saw what you were doing back there." Leliana sat down beside him, always too close.

Sten shuffled away. "Oh?"

"Don't play innocent with me."

"What are you talking about?"

She smirked. "You. Playing with that kitten."

"...There was no kitten."

"Sten, I saw you. You were dangling a piece of twine for it."

"I was helping it train."

"You're a big softie!"

"We will never speak of this again."

"Softie!"

Years later, when the Fereldan shoreline was invaded by a Qunari regiment of vicious, trained attack cats, Leliana realized that, perhaps, Sten had not been a 'softie,' after all.

* * *

**Jan 5, 2012 - Powerless**

He tilts the vial back and forth in his fingers. It's strangely viscous, an unnatural shade of blue. He wonders who tasted it for the first time; who realized that it restored a mage's power; who realized that, once you started, it was impossible to stop.

Wiggling the cork free, he can smell its distinctive tang and his body responds instantly. His hands are trembling, but he forces himself to wait.

He wonders who decided to give it to their templars. Did they know?

It hurts. He can't delay any longer.

He drinks, and loses a little more of himself.

* * *

**Jan 6, 2012 – A Crow's Welcome**

"This one should be suitable. Always up to no good, but smart."

At the sound of Señora Arama's voice, he scrabbles under the bed. He'd watched them arrive from the window and knew what they were.

Crows.

The door creaks open and he holds himself still, barely daring to breathe.

"I thought he was here—?"

"He is, señora. We will get him out." There are footsteps and then a leering face, blocking out the light.

They pull him out, while he kicks, screams, claws, bites.

They laugh at his antics now, but he will pay for his disobedience later.

* * *

**Jan 7, 2012 – Mother Knows Best**

"Now, you will watch, and learn well." Flemeth picked up the ornate golden mirror and threw it against the wall where it shattered, glittering shards crashing to the floor.

Morrigan stood before her, her chin jutting defiantly into the air. The girl's tears were threatening to fall, her lip quivering with words unsaid.

"Pick them up."

"No!"

"No? Would you like me to control your mind again? You will learn to obey me, girl."

There was hatred in her eyes, but she did as she was told.

Flemeth smiled. It was always so much more fun when they fought back.


	2. Week 2

**Jan 8, 2012 - Curiosity**

It was weird.

He glanced around again and then picked one of the little gowns from the drawer. Why would Lady Isolde have these? There were no babies here. He was nearly four, and none of this stuff would fit  _him_.

He'd seen her, every month it seemed, laying the contents of this drawer out on the bed—booties, hats, gowns... Sometimes, she held them and cried.

"What do you think you're doing?" The shriek made him jump as he spun to face her.

"I'm sorry!"

That night, the Arl took him down to the stables and left him there.

* * *

**Jan 9, 2012 – Chest Friends Forever**

"The Divine herself has commanded it. Your pleas mean nothing." The Seeker nodded at the two templars who flanked the chair. "Do it."

"No, no, anything but that!" Varric screamed as they bound him; screamed louder when the first glint of the blade appeared.

-o-

Leliana looked up from the unwrapped package with delight. "You shouldn't have! Where did you find something so perfect?"

"When I saw it, I knew you had to have it."

"Schmooples will be adorable in his little fur coat. It's so soft, too!"

Cassandra smiled. "I know the previous owner took… very good care of it."

* * *

**Jan 10, 2012 – It's Not That Simple**

His whole life, he'd been told he was simple.

Slow.

Dumb.

Stupid.

Yet, he is the one Greagoir sends to collect the children.

He can taste their fear because  _he_  has tasted it.

Alone.

Different.

He hates using his smite—a last resort, always. Instead, he comforts and reassures; his pockets full of sweets; his voice, gentle.

He is one of them, only bigger, and they know it. They curl into the safety of his arms as they ride towards the Tower.

He wishes he could protect them from what they will find there.

He knows.

He's not stupid.

* * *

**Jan 11, 2012 - Longing**

Solona wriggled in the cramped space. She was almost too big to fit up here now, but the temptation was too great. If she lay perfectly flat on top of the bookshelf, she could just reach the high circular window.

Its glass was thick, distorting anything except for a muted vision of blue, or grey, or black. In the summer, it was warm to the touch, like the almost-forgotten memory of her mother's cheek. In the winter, it frosted over, and she scraped long curls from its surface with her fingernails.

She wished she could understand why this was forbidden.

* * *

**Jan 12, 2012 – Outcast**

The blade against his palm feels better than it should. It's supposed to hurt, and it does… but he's come to like the pain. Jowan flexes his hand, waiting for the blood to wick up the edge of the line he's carved, already tasting the power within.

Channeling it into a wisp, it rapidly grows bigger and brighter than anything he could have ever managed the normal way. He lets it feed off him until his fear overwhelms the tempting lure to just  _let it take more_. Who would care anyway?

The light fades, leaving him alone in the darkness.

* * *

**Jan 13, 2012 – Upstairs, Downstairs**

Kallian slouched sullenly in the corner of the kitchen, wiry arms wrapped around bony knees, waiting for her mother to finish cleaning so they could go home. The kitchen was comforting— the only part of the estate that she liked—but today, she hated  _it_ , too. Ser Haren's brats had breezed in and sweet-talked Marta out of a basket of pastries, laughing as they ran back up the stairs. She wanted to hurt them, grind their faces in the dirt, but it wouldn't make a difference. She would still be poor, angry, hungry, elven. Nothing but another piece of trash.

* * *

**Jan 14, 2012 – Big and Strong**

"Come now. 'Tis good for you."

The old god clearly did not have a penchant for broccoli, as the babe sealed his lips tighter.

"You wish to take over the world someday, do you not? One cannot do that without strong bones."

Another piece of greenery plummeted purposefully to the floor.

"A'demo!"

"No."

"A'demo!"

"I will not. 'Tis foolish."

"A'demo!" The babe's lower lip began to quiver.

"Fine… if it will get you to eat." She sent a spear of broccoli into the air, looping it around in a complex aerial maneuver. "Here comes the Archdemon… look out Denerim…"

Chomp!


	3. Week 3

**Jan 15, 2012 – Sister, Sister**

Bethany sipped her ale. The taste was awful; the bitterness in her mouth perfectly fitting as Anders leaned over to whisper something in Marian's ear. Her sister was toying with her hair, one curl wrapped around her finger, as she whispered something back. It was impossible to miss Anders' shiver, the dark look of  _want_  in his eyes.

Bethany made herself look away, forcing down another swallow. Marian  _always_  got what she wanted. You think she'd have learned that by now. "I have to go."

She didn't see Marian's satisfied smirk at her retreat, but she knew it was there.

* * *

**Jan 16, 2012 – Duty**

Cailan slid inside her with a groan, crushing her body beneath his. His breathing was rough against her neck as his pace increased, his hips snapping to meet hers.

Almost over.

After his final frantic thrusts, Anora tried not to look relieved as he kissed her softly before crawling out of bed and shrugging on his clothes.

"Be back soon. Just want to get something to eat," he said, the familiar lie falling easily from his lips.

"Of course."

Anora held in her tears until the door clicked closed.

As always, she was just the first whore of the night.

* * *

**Jan 17, 2012 - Illumination**

Leliana bowed her head, kneeling before the rows of candles that illuminated the alcove near the chantry's entrance before sliding another portion of her remaining coin into the wooden box.

A copper to light a candle.

A copper to beseech Andraste, in all her loveliness, to intervene.

She took a slow breath, inhaling the sweetness of incense mixed with candle smoke, and then began to recite the Chant.

Every night, one candle, one life that she had ended.

But, no matter how hard she prayed, somehow forgiveness always seemed to slip through her fingers like the shadows on the floor.

* * *

**Jan 18, 2012 – 'Til Death**

Oghren crouched down beside Branka's body.

Her hair was caked with blood; her face shattered by a blow that had probably been his. Even though it felt foolish, he held her hand for a moment, as if he could remove the chill that was already stiffening her fingers.

He finally dragged her body towards the precipice, staring down long after she had been swallowed up by the molten river below. After two long years, he finally knew where she was, what had happened.

Hopefully, there was enough ale here to take the sour taste of victory out of his mouth.

* * *

**Jan 19, 2012 – Rylock**

It had been so long since she had been touched, even longer since she had been touched like  _this_. He had been tender, slow—nothing like she'd expected—bringing her to climax again and again in a wave that had seemed to crest and never crash. Afterward, she had buried herself in his arms, not even caring that this was forbidden. She would have given it all up, for him, for the promises he had given.

I'll never leave.

Trust me.

I'm yours.

Fucking Anders. She would find him and rip out his heart, just like he'd done to hers.

* * *

**Jan 20, 2012 - Floccinaucinihilipilification**

Leliana laughed, her hand resting comfortably on Alistair's arm. He grinned in response, twining his fingers with hers as her head settled against his shoulder. Unable to watch them any longer, Natia blindly turned and started walking, not stopping until she'd reached the river near their camp.

What had she been thinking? Hoping for something… that had been her first mistake. Wanting something that would never be hers. How could she have been so sodding stupid?

She was just a Duster, rough like the stone; not slender, graceful, tall.

He would never look at someone like her.

Not like that.

* * *

**Jan 21, 2012 – Leliana's Song**

Leliana was singing, her voice soaring like a bird—effortless—through the evening sky.

Alistair's whetstone grew still.

Zevran and Aedan's sparring slowed and stopped, no words spoken as their blades hung loosely at their sides.

Even Morrigan paused, the grimoire forgotten in her lap.

As if in a spell, the moment hung there between them all, bound by the tenuous strands of her song as the colors in the sky burned out in a blaze of orange and pink.

Her voice faded as the sun vanished; her head bowed in the twilight so they could not see her tears.


	4. Week 4

**Jan 22, 2012 - Martyr**

How could he have done this? Why? Everything they'd had was gone, lost in the explosion that had rocked Kirkwall, lost in the plume of smoke and dust that hung in the sky like a rain that would never fall.

He wanted to die, she could see it in his eyes, in the way he seemed to pull himself inward, already anticipating the blow.

She couldn't cry.

Tears dropped from her irritated eyes, but her grief was too large to escape, trapped in her throat.

"Fuck you, Anders. Fuck you for making  _me_  do this."

She drove the dagger home.

* * *

**Jan 23, 2012 – The Help**

"My mother used to be one of the cleaners here," Natia said as they entered the Orzammar Royal Palace, a sharp contrast to the crushing poverty of Dust Town. "The uniform she had to wear was ridiculous, covered with down from some fancy surface bird. She hated it."

"So, she was a Feather Duster?" Sten asked.

Her glare descended on him with the fury of an enraged bronto. "Are you trying to be funny?"

"No."

"Good." She waved her dagger menacingly at the rest of them. "Anyone else?"

They all shook their heads, hands pressed tightly to their mouths.

"Good."

* * *

**Jan 24, 2012 – Worse Than Death**

The vial was deceptively weightless, with only a few drops of liquid within. This variety was not commonly used—not likely to be missed—but that wasn't why he had chosen it. The extract from this particular snake left its victims wracked in pain for weeks; a slow and agonizing descent into the abyss.

Her eyes had been wide with disbelief as he'd slit her throat, her blood bubbling, gushing over his arm.

After a moment, he put the vial back.

It wasn't enough.

Living was the greater punishment, and he wanted it to hurt.

It was all he deserved.

* * *

**Jan 25, 2012 – The Smell of Freedom**

Neria took her place by the fire, sending Leliana on her way to get some rest. The night had been quiet so far, and she hoped it would continue.

"You coming, boy?"

There was a whuff of assent as the mabari padded over, shaking himself vigorously before flopping down. She nestled in next to him, her head resting against his broad side. He snuffled her hair, attempting to lick her ear until she pushed his head away with a playful shove.

"Mangy mongrel."

It was a strange feeling, to be happy.

Outside.

Free.

Even if it did smell like dog.

* * *

**Jan 26, 2012 – Hot Chocolate**

"What is this?" Kallian sniffed at the mug suspiciously.

Zevran smiled. "You will just have to trust me. Try it." She looked down at the unfamiliar substance and then looked back at him. "Come, one taste will not hurt you, no?"

"Fine." After another reluctant look, she took a sip, her eyes widening in wonder. "This is—this is the best thing ever!" She squealed and kissed him thoroughly before taking another gulp.

It wasn't long before Kallian had finished hers… and then most of his as well.

Truthfully, it tasted better on her lips than in the mug anyway.

* * *

**Jan 27, 2012 – Wherever You Go, There You Are**

Even at the gates to the Alienage, she could smell it—piss and despair... fear... garbage. Away from here, it was easy to pretend she had forgotten, but now, at the threshold, the memories crept back in; shadows lurking in dark corners.

"Are you all right?" Leliana took her hand and squeezed it gently.

"I'm okay." Kallian fiddled with one of the buckles—it was always the same one—adjusting her armor as she mentally steadied herself.

"You are more than this place now."

Kallian looked through the bars, from the other side this time.

"No. I  _am_  this place."

* * *

**Jan 28, 2012 - Unwanted**

"You wanted to see me, ser?" He hesitated in the doorway.

The Arl nodded. "Come in, Alistair."

He stood in front of the desk, afraid to sit down, hearing nothing of Eamon's words once he realized he was being sent away. His eyes burned with tears, and he was ashamed to find they were already running down his cheeks. "Is it because I'm your son?"

Eamon paused, then chuckled. "You're not mine, boy. I suppose it's time you knew… You're the King's bastard."

The floor was crumbling to dust beneath his feet; his voice a shaky whisper. "I hate you."


	5. Week 5

**Jan 29, 2012 – Regret**

Perhaps today would be the day she did not come.

Unable to sit, Fenris paced the length of the narrow room until the click of the door opening made him freeze, transfixed by her soft footfalls as she climbed the stairs.

"Fenris?" Hawke slipped into the room, a book tucked under her arm. "Did you still want to read today?"

"Of course."

For the briefest moment, her smile was a little too tight; her eyes, wounded.

He blinked, and it was gone.

"Let's get started then."

He read haltingly—everything meaningless—his thoughts fixed on what could never be his.

* * *

**Jan 30, 2012 – Camp Hijinks**

"No, no, put something like 'I long to plunder your womanly depths.'"

"How about: 'I dream of laying my head upon your soft and pillowy bosom?' They do look comfortable, no?"

Leliana dissolved into giggles. "Perfect."

-o-

Alistair jumped as Morrigan stormed up. "I do not suppose you would care to explain  _this_." She waved a piece of parchment at him. "My eyes are not 'limpid pools of melted butter,' nor are my breasts 'succulent globes' for you to 'nibble like apples.' "

"But—I—"

Morrigan spun to glare at Leliana and Zevran. "What are you two laughing at?"

"Nothing!"

* * *

**Jan 31, 2012 - Walls**

They were all laughing, the sound carrying easily to the far side of the camp. She could see them, too, huddled around the fire; a closed circle around the light and warmth. 'Twas irrelevant, truly. She had her  _own_  fire that was more than adequate with no one to crowd her. The group laughed again, Theron slapping Zevran on the back in his mirth.

She was above this ridiculous camaraderie.

Drawing the form of the wolf around herself, she skulked off into the grasslands, lingering to watch for just one more minute… wondering, in that instant, who was the fool.

* * *

**Feb 1, 2012 - Comfort**

"Alistair."

Poke.

"You awake?"

He managed a mumble. "No."

"I can't sleep."

"Whatsa matter?" Alistair opened his eyes to find Neria crouched beside his bedroll. They'd been too exhausted to erect tents last night, having travelled well past sunset.

She twisted her hands nervously. "I'm cold. And the wind through the trees sounds funny."

"You laugh when you incinerate darkspawn, but you're afraid of wind?"

Her movements stilled as she glared at him. "Shove over."

"What?"

But she was already climbing under his blanket, curling up against his chest like she belonged there.

The thought startled him: Maybe… she did.

* * *

**Feb 2, 2012 – Left Behind**

He kneels down before the stones, not noticing the dampness of the ground seeping through his trousers. The earth is undisturbed, the grass already grown over like a blanket, as he leans to touch the first stone, then the second. Moss is creeping into the carved letters and he scrapes it away with his fingertip as he traces each one.

Oriana.

Oren.

He wishes he could peel back the earth and lie down between them, but he is inexplicably still  _here_ , pressing his cheek to the cold stone and wondering why he is still alive when he feels so dead.

* * *

**Feb 3, 2012 – No Stone Left Unturned**

"Where is he?" Cassandra turned sharply to face the chair. "Surely the apostate has tried to contact you. We know how… close you two once were."

The tension in the room was stretched thin, so close to breaking. Maker, but she'd thought these interrogations were going to be easier.

There was no answer to her question, only a haughty yawn of boredom. This was going nowhere.

"Fine. You win this round, but don't think I'm finished with you."

Ser Pounce-a-Lot stretched languidly, leaping down from the chair with a twitch of his tail before padding off to find his supper.

* * *

**Feb 4, 2012 - Envy**

The rose was perfect—unnaturally so. He touched each petal, admiring the beauty that had made him think of her, when voices suddenly cut through the darkness. He stashed it guiltily in his lap.

Kallian was giggling softly as she and the assassin disappeared into the trees, his arm wrapped possessively around her waist. At least he wouldn't have to hear them  _this_  time.

Alistair stared after them, long after they were gone, before tossing the rose into the fire with a feigned indifference. It was almost fascinating, how quickly the flames made it shrivel, reducing the bloom to ashes.


	6. Week 6

**Feb 5, 2012 – Homecoming**

It was strangely fitting, the way the sheets of rain were lancing down from the sky as she arrived at Highever. Without the battering rain, the castle would have utterly silent; just the crunch of debris beneath her feet. Elissa could almost hear their voices at the edge of her awareness; whispers in the shadows.

Rooms that had been burned, nothing but the memory of smoke in the air.

Rooms covered in spatters—pools—of dried blood and overturned furniture.

It was the illusion cast by the rooms left untouched that finally brought her to her knees, weeping and broken.

* * *

**Feb 6, 2012 – Woman's Best Friend**

"Alistair! There's something wrong with Dougal!" The mabari was whining weakly as Neria hovered over him.

"Weird, he was fine earlier." Alistair hurried over. "Let me see."

"Now!"

He found himself pinned from behind—Sten, from the size of the forearms—and completely immobilized.

Neria bounced up. "Now, that attempt at a beard is coming off. I know you think it looks manly," she paused to snicker, "but, truthfully, you look a mangy squirrel died on your chin. You stay there while I get your shaving stuff."

Alistair glared at the dog. "You were in on this, weren't you?"

"Bark!"

* * *

**Feb 7, 2012 – Inevitable**

_*Warning: Implied noncon/dubcon situation, implied violence causing miscarriage_

Natia pressed into the gap between the buildings, wishing she could disappear. She couldn't go home—she wouldn't. Beraht was back again with more Mosswine for Mother; trinkets to make Rica more desirable for the nobles he whored her out to. He brought  _her_  nothing but lust to sate, pain between her legs that ached long after he had finished.

Apparently, life liked fucking her, too.

 _Her_  cycle was late. Not Rica's.

She shrunk back as best she could, knowing it was hopeless. His thugs would come and  _take care of things_ , needing nothing more than fists.

Just like before.

* * *

**Feb 8, 2012 - Temptation**

He'd always watched her, duty a convenient pretense. She was the warmth of a flame, drawing people to her effortlessly, unlike him; a ghost at the frayed edge of her brilliance.

Once, he'd guarded her while she studied, played.

Now, more often than not, he held vigil as she ground out her pleasure in the arms of whoever was convenient. Tonight, she'd opened her eyes as she climaxed, her gaze burning into him as this night's lover continued his frenzied thrusting.

The implied invitation scorched with the force of his longing.

He nodded hesitantly; another shadow tempted by the light.

* * *

**Feb 9, 2012 – Devotion**

It was cruel that sun should be so bright, the sky such a delicate eggshell of blue. It made the gold in her hair gleam as the wind teased the long strands that hung over the edges of the pyre.

The flames soared impossibly high, Andraste's fire consuming what remained of her—their hero, the king's lover, his master. With a keening howl, he tore himself free from the bard's side, ignoring the muted horror in her eyes as he leapt.

Curled at her feet with flames licking his fur, he closed his eyes and waited to crumble into ash.

* * *

**Feb 10, 2012 – First Attempt**

The water is so cold that it feels like the air is being torn from his lungs; a raptor's talons ripping away the ability to breathe.

Terror propels him onward, clawing towards the distant shore.

Have they seen him yet?

Part of him still can't believe that he's actually  _doing_  this.

_Maker, please, just a little further._

He sends a burst of magic into his aching muscles as he falters once more.

Unexpectedly, his fingers touch sand and his relief is so sharp that he nearly weeps, but there's no time. He stumbles to his feet and begins to run.

* * *

**Feb 11, 2012 – Into Each Life Some Rain Must Fall**

The patter of raindrops on the sides of her tent was soothing, like cool fingertips drumming lightly against the canvas. She raised her hand to trace the path of the rivulets of water running down the side. It had never rained in Orzammar.

The early dawn light was grey and muted when she cautiously emerged. Alistair sat next to the sputtering embers of the fire, his cloak drawn around him.

"Up at last?" He smiled as she approached, taking her into his arms and kissing her softly.

His lips were chilled, tasting of rain, and the promise of something more.


	7. Week 7

**Feb 12, 2012 – Return to Ostagar**

They stood at the edge of the battlefield, the blanket of snow covering the ground a strange act of mercy. The traces of carnage were still there… protruding bones encased in battered armor; no defense against the scavenging hordes of crows that had likely gorged their bellies on the flesh of Cailan's fallen army.

They picked their way across the field, Leliana's voice cutting through the frozen stillness as the Chant tumbled unbidden from her lips. Alistair stopped, brushing away the snow to reveal another unnamed Warden, Duncan still lost somewhere beneath piles of corpses and drifts crusted with ice.

* * *

**Feb 13, 2012 – D** **é** **j** **à** **Vu**

The morning dew on the grass was seeping up the edges of her robes as she stood, unable to look away from the pair that had unexpectedly stepped out of the forest.

Wynne's heart froze in her chest as Alistair kissed Solona deeply, her arms clutching his shoulders as he pressed her up against one of the trees.

They were so  _young_.

Her own memories, banked and buried, flared to life like smoldering embers.

The taste of regret was sour in her mouth as she turned and marched away; the sound of her son's cries echoing impossibly in her ears.

* * *

**Feb 14, 2012 – Solace**

He pulled her closer, his hands guiding her movement as they rocked together. Morrigan's head fell back as she instinctively responded to his touch, to the gentle caress of his thumb over her hip bone.

This was more than sex—she could admit that much now at least.

The force of her release made her gasp as Aedan's followed close behind; his fingers dug into her hips as he arched against her. Afterward, she lay in his arms as he pressed kisses into her hair, wondering when this was all going to shatter like the mirror from so long ago.

* * *

**Feb 15, 2012 - Aftermath**

Alistair raised his hand to knock—no, this was only going to make things worse. He lowered it again, leaning his forehead against the smooth wood with a sigh, barely able to resist the urge to bang his head against it. This was stupid—she was right there,  _dammit_ , just a door between them…

The muffled sobs that had drawn him here had stopped now and he could picture her, curled in a ball beneath the blankets.

_She's not yours. Not anymore._

He forced himself to walk away, leaving everything he'd ever wanted behind a door he could have opened.

* * *

**Feb 16, 2012 – Hurt**

The cat blinked—once, twice—before her eyes slid closed, a rumbling purr vibrating through his chest. As much as it hurt to lie on his back, the warm feline puddle sprawled across him was more than worth it.

It had only been lashes this time, and he'd nearly laughed with relief. Just pain, no solitary confinement—he hadn't missed the subtle way Greagoir had said ' _this time_.' The thought of that room, the long months… the cat squirmed in protest as Anders instinctively clutched her closer.

Just pain—he could handle that. At least it made him feel alive.

* * *

**Feb 17, 2012 – Unexpected Joy**

Anora ran her hands over the flatness of her stomach, smoothing out the wrinkles in the delicate fabric. She paused for a moment, her palm warm against her belly.

The door opened and she turned to greet the now-familiar footsteps. Alistair grinned, his bashfulness long gone, as he crossed the room to embrace her tightly. "Do we have time before the Orlesian delegation arrives? Please say we do." His lips found the sensitive spot near her collar bone.

She pressed a kiss beneath his jaw and took a shaky breath, feeling uncharacteristically shy. "I have something to tell you first."

* * *

**Feb 18, 2012 (1) – Acceptance**

He jerked awake with a start, the scent of flowers mixed with blood—her blood—lingering as the last tendrils of the dream faded.

"Nightmare?" Alim was looking at him, concerned.

Zevran let out a long breath. "Yes." He lay back down pulling Alim close. "I have many regrets,  _querido_ ; sometimes they do not rest easy."

"I am grateful those choices led you here." Alim's fingers smoothed the hair at his temple, trailing down over his cheek, and Zevran kissed them as they brushed across his mouth.

"As am I."

Alim kissed him; familiar, loving.

No regrets. Not this time.

* * *

**Feb 18, 2012 (2) – Irresistible**

"Holy sweet—"

"Merciful fuck—"

"Look at the size of his—"

"I know!"

Morrigan sighed. "Are you two quite finished?"

"No." Leliana grinned. "Look at him!"

Neria peeked out again. "Mmm, mmm… his chest is so lovely. You think he'd let me eat my evening meal off it?"

"That's not what I want to taste."

They dissolved into giggles as Morrigan huffed and walked away.

-o-

"You know the girls are spying on you, right?" Alistair asked as he approached the stream.

"Of course!" Zevran stretched languidly as he towelled off. "Why do you think I chose this spot?"


	8. Week 8

**Feb 19, 2012 – Solitude**

The wind pushed her up and she coasted on the coolness of the current, scarcely needing the odd beat of her wings to hold herself steady. Below her, the group straggled along—earth-bound.

Up here, there was no chatter, no endless whining, as she scanned the wide expanse of blue that surrounded her with a sense of detached avian indifference.

With a reluctant dip of her wings, she banked down into the trees to resume her own given shape, feathers drifting away like shreds of shadow in the breeze. She cast one last longing glance upward, and began to walk.

* * *

**Feb 20, 2012 – Beginnings**

It would be easy.

The man's purse was hanging tantalizingly low  _and_  he was distracted, chatting animatedly with the shopkeeper. She stepped closer, feigning an interest in the baubles laid out for sale. Then, the purse was in her hand and she nearly laughed as strolled away, feeling the heft of the coin inside.

Marjolaine was pleased, giving her a warm smile and, to her initial surprise, a soft kiss on her lips. "I have such plans for you," she whispered.

Leliana bowed her head, her heart fluttering painfully in her chest. "I will do anything you ask of me."

* * *

**Feb 21, 2012 – Sparring and Silliness**

"That the best you can do?" Alistair chuckled as he dodged her blade.

"No." Elissa barreled towards him, landing flat on her face as he grinned and side-stepped at the last second. "I hate you."

"Then how do you explain last night?" He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"You suck."

"No, I believe you were the one who—"

"Surrender!" She launched herself at him, deftly finding his most ticklish spots as he laughed and squirmed.

"No!"

"Surrender!"

"Fine. You win!"

Elissa slid off him in a semblance of dignity. "Excellent."

"I hate you."

She kissed him soundly. "No, you don't."

* * *

**Feb 22, 2012 – Whispers in the Dark**

"Zevran?"

"Yes,  _querida_?"

Kallian's fingers traced over his chest. "Do you ever worry everything is too good?"

"I am not sure I follow."

"It's just that, well, I'm… happy."

"As am I, my Warden."

"No, it's just—whenever things seem to be going well, it really means that everything's about to fall apart."

"Ah. Well, things are not all  _that_  happy. Armies to raise, an Archdemon to kill… I am thinking this one bit of happiness is not so much to ask."

She was silent.

And then there was a hesitant whisper in his ear. "I think… I love you."

* * *

**Feb 23, 2012 – Nightmares**

They chased her in her dreams, gaping maws opened wide to reveal serrated, triangular teeth. Their tainted stench filled her nostrils as they circled, gleaming eyes fierce and hungry. Too many, always too many, despite the rise and fall of her blade.

She was screaming as she woke, her hands scrabbling instinctively for his warmth. Her breath came in ragged gasps as she came back to herself.

Her bed.

Vigil's Keep.

Her hands closed on nothing but the chilled blankets on the opposite side of the bed and she began to weep, realizing that she would never wake from  _this_.

* * *

**Feb 24, 2012 – Nature's Grace**

The grass beneath her feet was tipped with frost, the heat of her footsteps melting it as she ran. Her hair hung loose, streaming behind her, as she gave herself up to the exhilaration of the moment; whispers of spring thrumming in her blood.

A startled herd of halla came to life around her, rising like the wispy fog of her breath. They took flight and, for the briefest moment, they were one; graceful forms leaping effortlessly in an ancient dance. The current of halla pulled her along as they bled away into the forest, spirits dissolving under dawn's caress.

* * *

**Feb 25, 2012 –** **Affettuoso**

Kallian pulled back the paper and hesitated, looking at Leliana. "A fiddle?"

"You mentioned you used to play, no?"

Kallian nodded, running her thumb over the fine horse hair strung across the bow, feeling the slight tackiness of newly-applied rosin.

Settling the instrument beneath her chin, a long-buried melody danced from her fingers; the bow pulling forth a voice that sang of home, of simple joys long past.

The rocking of her fingers made the notes waiver; a plaintive longing that made her want to weep.

It wasn't until her final downbow ended that she realized that she already was.


	9. Week 9

**Feb 26, 2012 – Sibling Rivalry**

_Chunk._

The stone hit the side of the barn, dislodging a shower of dirt.

_Chunk._

There was something satisfying in the dull thud it made when it struck the weathered wood, the nervous whinny of the old mare inside. Carver leaned back against the rain barrel, tucking his knees up against his chest.

Stupid Marian.

His fingers dug around in the dirt, searching for more ammunition.

'Why can't you be more like your sister?' 'Your sister would never do that.' Mother's words echoed in his head.

She was always going to be better than him.

He sniffled, and threw.

_Chunk._

* * *

**Feb 27, 2012 – Solitary Revisited**

The hours between sleep and not-sleep stretch desolately out before him.

The only sounds: his voice—ranting, singing; his fists pounding on the stone.

The only smells: the waft from the bucket he relieves himself in; the reek of uncleanliness that clings to his clothes, his hair, his skin.

The only tastes: his meager meals that he bolts down too quickly to savor; blood from where he gnaws unconsciously on his lip.

The only sights: emptiness; darkness; the unchanging walls.

The only touch: his own, stroking out his rage until the warm spurt of his release drips from his fingers.

* * *

**Feb 28, 2012 – Minor Reprieve**

Alistair scrunched down under the rough covers, pulling them over his head in a futile attempt to block out the sighs and murmurs of the boys that shared his room. He envied how easily they dropped into slumber, leaving just him awake—cold, hungry, alone.

Curled in a ball with his blanket tucked around him, he closed his eyes and pictured the warmth of the stables, the sweet scent of fresh hay, the soft whickers as the horses settled in for the evening. Wrapped in the illusion, he felt himself growing heavier as sleep finally drew him into its embrace.

* * *

**Feb 29, 2012 – Wankgst**

"I just… don't think I'm ready yet."

Natia patted the bulge in Alistair's trousers, making him squeak. "You look ready to me."

"But, I want it to be special."

"You'll be my first human... that's special."

"No, I—"

"If you don't want me, just say so." She glared at him. "I'm going to my tent to pleasure  _myself_. Loudly. I don't need some virginal templar fumbling around down there to get  _me_  off."

Alistair fled to his tent as she stormed away, embarrassed to admit that the thought of her… doing  _that,_  necessitated some personal time of his own.

* * *

**Mar 1, 2012 – Requiem**

The snatches of conversation drew her up to the surface, scarcely able to focus on the worried faces that swam into view.

"Alistair?" Her voice was a raspy croak as Leliana leaned in to smooth the damp tendrils that clung to her cheeks.

"He's fine. He'll be here soon."

The lie was there—the pause as the fingers temporarily faltered on her brow—but, Maker, she  _wanted_  it to be true.

Too weary to sob, to wail, to scream, she let herself slide back under, surrendering to the sweetness of forgetful oblivion once more.

Perhaps, this time, she wouldn't wake.

* * *

**Mar 2, 2012 – Origins**

The grass beneath her was brittle and brown, no doubt even more aware than the citizens of Lothering that the darkspawn were inching ever closer. She idly summoned a wisp of magic between her hands, stretching and pulling it, as she waited for the others to finish up whatever ridiculous altruistic tasks they had taken on. Her mind wandered over these new companions—the idiotic templar, in particular—as she shaped the flower, smoothing each petal with crimson-bathed fingers.

"Finally."

She planted the rose in the grass at her feet, and rose to meet them as they crested the hill.

* * *

**Mar 3, 2012 - Horror**

In her dreams, she is back, wandering through stone corridors that grow narrower as she walks. She can feel her breath coming in shallow gasps—somehow, she knows this isn't real, but her body still panics as the chill leaches into the soles of her feet, making her legs feel leaden and heavy. The bodies—mages, templars—reach for her with grasping fingers that clutch at her robes. She stumbles, falls, and they are pulling her down; smothering her face with hands that taste like blood and rot.

She wakes, madly scrambling for the tent's opening, frantic for the sky.


	10. Week 10

**Mar 4, 2012 – Baby Steps**

Varel sighed, surveying the Keep's entryway. As much as he liked the new Warden-Commander, this was beginning to get rather tiresome. He gingerly lifted what he suspected was a grime-encrusted sock. At least the Orlesians had been tidy.

"Right." He turned to the assembled servants and pointed in turn. "You three with the gloves, pick up any darkspawn chunks and put them in this basket. You two are on weapons; you three, armour and miscellaneous clothing. The rest of you, floors and walls."

Shaking his head, he sighed again. Maybe he could start by getting them to wipe their feet…?

* * *

**Mar 5, 2012 - Burdens**

Loghain smoothed an errant corner on the top piece of parchment before lifting the sheets up and glancing through them again. There was little need for him to read them as he practically had them memorized.

Authorization for Tevinter to claim slaves from the Alienage.

This was war. No sacrifice was too small. This was bigger than him, bigger than Cailan, than all of them. Rowan's face flitted through his memory for the briefest instant, and the decision was made—the wet ink of his scrawled signature slashed across the page.

What was one more regret, after all this time?

* * *

**Mar 6, 2012 – What Cannot Be**

The shrieks of the children filled the courtyard as Loghain entered, spotting Rowan sitting in the dappled shade beneath one of the trees. She smiled at him warmly as he sat down.

"How's it going so far?"

Rowan laughed. "Good, I suppose. He pulled her hair and now she's bossing him around. She has your strength of will."

"Let's hope he has some of yours, to survive her."

She rested her head far too comfortably against his shoulder—nothing but old friends—though his heart ached with longing as they watched their children play together in the bright autumn sunshine.

* * *

**Mar 7, 2012 – Kindred Spirits**

Solona flicked the pebble with her fingers, watching the crystals creep over the surface.

Ice.

Another flick and it was wreathed in a tiny nimbus of tangerine flames.

Fire.

She forced the stone back and forth between the two extremes, not even hearing the footsteps approaching.

"Aren't you supposed to be in class?"

"Aren't you?"

Anders shrugged, sliding down the wall to sit next to her. "What are you doing?"

"Playing." The pebble burst into flames once more.

"You know that's not allowed. Magic… outside of class."

"I know." She grinned.

He couldn't help smiling back. "That's nothing. Watch this."

* * *

**Mar 8, 2012 - Defiance**

The tiny bird, not even fledged yet, lay cradled in her palm and she stroked the warm pink flesh with a strange sense of wonder. She could hear Mother's voice in her head, easily able to predict what she would say: 'whether it lives or dies is a testament to its own power and should be no concern of yours…'

The bird opened and closed its beak, nestling into the touch of her fingers.

'Twould not be too hard to keep it hidden, if she was careful. And clever.

Morrigan smiled. She was nothing if not both of those things.

* * *

**Mar 9, 2012 – Coming of Age**

" _Ma'arlath_."

She shivered at the warmth of his breath on her ear.

"These are beautiful." His fingers traced the new markings across her cheeks and down her throat. "You are so beautiful,  _emma vhenan_."

They were both adults now in the eyes of the clan, finally free to lay together…

Tamlen's lips brushed her neck, making her gasp.

Lyna cupped his jaw between her hands and lifted him to meet her eyes. " _Emma ma'nuvenin_." She ran her fingers over his  _vallaslin_  before drawing him close and claiming his mouth with her own, suddenly overcome with the fierceness of her desire.

. . .

 _Ma'arlath_  – I love you

 _Emma vhenan_ – My heart ( a term of endearment)

 _Emma ma'nuevin_  – I want/need you

 _Vallaslin_  – Blood writing. The intricate facial tattoos worn by the Dalish, done by the clan's Keeper as part of a coming of age ritual.

* * *

**Mar 10, 2012 – The Dork Ritual**

His hands were clammy.

His breath was rank, not unlike aged Gruyère.

His left nostril whistled plaintively on each exhalation.

She had hoped that at least his equipment would not disappoint—but, alas, no. At first, she would have classified his cock as an 'innie' rather than an 'outie.'

He came, with a most undignified noise, as soon as she touched him.

The second time, she had to bite back an 'is it in yet?' as he slobbered on her breasts.

The deed done, he fell soundly asleep, clutching her in his sweaty embrace.

This had better be worth it.

. . .

_I love Alistair, I really do. Poor guy._


	11. Week 11

**Mar 11, 2012 – Desire**

I hunger.

Consumed with need, I can do nothing but devour, but it's not enough. It's never enough.

He is consumed with want, too. I see his need, reflected in my eyes. We are not so different and, perhaps, that is why he is afraid.

I take her shape, feeding his hunger just as he feeds mine.

Sometimes, he weeps and lashes out; hating himself for the secret thoughts I pull from him like twists of coloured thread… even if I know he lusts after what I weave with them.

We are here, together, for this moment and for always.

* * *

**Mar 12, 2012 – Missed Opportunities**

"I think this way…" She bent to study the map, and Alistair could smell the sweetness of her freshly washed hair, that soft floral scent that was so undeniably  _her_. He couldn't help leaning in. She looked up suddenly and he felt himself flush. "What do you think?"

What did  _he_  think? How could he possibly think when his chest was too tight, his heartbeat impossibly loud in his ears? "Uh… sure?"

"Great. It's decided then. Thanks!" She squeezed his hand and then she was gone; another moment wasted.

Maybe giving her the rose was just a stupid idea anyway.

* * *

**Mar 13, 2012 – Devotion**

He could smell her sorrow as he padded down the hallway. She looked up as he nosed the door open; her emotions crashing over him.

"Here, boy," she whispered, patting the bed beside her.

He needed no further encouragement, barreling up next to her as the bedframe creaked under the force of his leap. Nuzzling his head into her lap, he curled his body around hers protectively.

"He has to be king. What am I going to do?" She buried her face in his fur and wept.

He whined and licked her hand, wishing he had the answer she sought.

* * *

**Mar 14, 2012 – The Longest Night**

Duncan stood staring into the dancing flames of the fire, too restless to sleep. Tomorrow, they would ride out with King Cailan, face the hordes of darkspawn head on… he shook his head. What was done was done. He had to hope that it would be enough. At least he had kept his promise. Fiona's boy—Maric's son—was as safe as he could make him. The rest of them, well, he knew the odds. He made his way back to the Wardens' tents, craving the pretense of sleep to soothe the foreboding sense of inevitability looming over them all.

* * *

**Mar 15, 2012 – That Which is Not**

For a moment, she forgot. His profile, outlined in the faint beginnings of dawn, made her heart compress into a painful knot.

His hair was too short.

A thin scar marred his cheek.

Alistair sighed in his sleep and the spell was broken. The sluggish flow of time resumed; the room grew lighter. In the distance, a songbird warbled. Everything was so absurdly normal and yet… not.

Anora rose carefully, slipping on her robe before making her way to the window. She stood for a long time—remembering—as the shadows unfurled behind her like petals beneath the waking sun.

* * *

**Mar 16, 2012 – All There Is**

"Alistair?" Her voice was muffled against the crook of his arm, the heat of her body still pressed against his.

"Yes?"

"Do you think we actually have a chance?"

He shifted back to look at her. "Do you mean us? Or just… everything?"

"Everything. Both. I don't know. Don't you ever feel like we're going to fail, that we were too late… that it was all for nothing?" She sat up, wrapping her arms tightly around her raised knees.

"Sometimes." He sat up, too. "Sometimes, there's nothing but hope."

"Is that enough?"

He kissed her bare shoulder. "I hope so."

* * *

**Mar 17, 2012 - Trepidation**

She could see her breath in the air, the chilled dampness settling into her bones. They weren't far now and each step felt heavier than the last. She would have never thought that she would dread the prospect of coming home.

Home.

Maybe it wasn't… not any more.

The thought made her hesitate—then stop—and Alistair paused, too; a look of concern in his eyes. "Are you all right?"

She blinked, surprised at the tears that had begun to burn. "I'm fine." She forced a smile even as the lie stuck like a bone in her throat. "I promise."


	12. Week 12

**Mar 18, 2012 - Caged**

The wind is deliciously cool, heavy and humid with the scent of rain. She gulps it in, savoring the taste of the storm and wishing she could surrender to its embrace.

In the distance, the thunder rumbles in a gradual crescendo.

What would it be like, to be pulled up into the clouds, to be consumed by the furious pounding of the rain, to be illuminated by the crackling spears of lightning?

Spattered drops kiss the glass of the tiny window as she stretches her hand through the gap to catch them in her palm.

Someday, she promises herself.

Someday.

* * *

**Mar 19, 2012 – Doors Best Left Closed**

She turned the letter over, tracing over the ridges of the wax seal holding the parchment closed. The King's seal. It was ridiculous that she was so reluctant to open it. She killed ten darkspawn every day before breakfast. She commanded the best damn bunch of Wardens in all of Thedas. So, why was she so afraid of what it was going to say? The fateful Landsmeet had been a long time ago…

She couldn't go through this again.

Wouldn't.

She tossed the unopened letter into the hearth and watched as the flames devoured it.

It was better this way.

* * *

**Mar 20, 2012 - Betrayal**

She turns on him, her eyes burning with rage. "You should have told me. You're the heir to the fucking throne."

He knows there's nothing he can say, but he tries anyway. "I… It's just—"

"I don't want to hear it." She shoves him—hard. "Every fucking person in my life has lied to me. Why should you be any different?"

She rails on him, though he knows she's not using her full force—pulling punches, hesitating enough for him to read her—until she sags against his chest and sobs. Her voice carves him open. "I trusted you."

* * *

**Mar 21, 2012 – Aeonar**

The days and months have bled by, along with her memories and her hopes. She used to think she saw Jowan here, too, until she realized that it was just the monsters wearing his face. Each night, they sift through her thoughts, tearing her open and leaving wounds that don't bleed.

She shouldn't be able to hear them.

But she does, here, in this fortress at the edge of the world.

With each passing day, she feels more translucent—like she is dissolving into the weathered stone—as the voices that whisper her name shred her essence in their claws.

* * *

**Mar 22, 2012 – The Longest Night: Cauthrien**

She knew he would come.

She'd seen him, walking back from the final meeting with Cailan, the mages, the Grey Wardens; his shoulders pulled tight as a bow string stretched beyond its limits, ready to snap.

They don't talk about the dawn, about strategies. She can read him well enough by now to know there's something he isn't telling her.

He takes her from behind, most of her armor still on, against the map-strewn table in his tent. She pushes against him, wanting it to hurt, wanting to take his pain into her, wanting to feel herself breaking into pieces.

* * *

**Mar 23, 2012 – The Longest Night: Loghain**

He'd known she would be waiting.

It was a strange sort of hero worship that had gone from uncomfortable to necessary as the years had passed; an outlet for the yearning hunger that burned in his belly, never quite extinguished.

He slammed into her forcefully, hearing her feathered gasps and moans, as he gave her his rage, his helplessness, his sense that everything had all inexplicably gone wrong and it was all falling through his fingers…

And, she took it.

Maker, she took it all, leaving him spent and heaving against her back with Rowan's name unspoken on his lips.

* * *

**Mar 24, 2012 - Sacrifice**

She seemed strangely light in his arms as he lifted her up, her armor dented and scorched. He'd snarled at them all to stay away as they looked on, eyes haunted with pity. This was his job. His duty, ironically enough.

The witch had lied—of course, she'd lied! How could he have been so stupid? How could he have let her take the final blow? He should have died… not her.

In the stillness, she drew in a shuddering breath.

He nearly dropped her as an overwhelming sense of relief swept through him, bringing him quaking to his knees.


	13. Week 13

**Mar 25, 2012 – One Born Every Minute**

"You're sure about this?"

"Their skin is sensitive to sunlight. Why do you think you've never seen one top side before?" Oghren rubbed his belly, trying to stifle the growl.

"That… makes sense." Alistair reluctantly took the proffered brush and bowl. "So, this is the right stuff?"

"Of course! You think old Oghren would steer you wrong?"

Alistair gave him a surprisingly perceptive look. "I'm trusting you. You'd better not be pulling something."

Oghren raised his hand. "Ancestor's honor."

_Heh._

-o-

Alistair had nearly finished when Leliana closed in on him in a fury. "Why are you honey glazing my nug?"

* * *

**Mar 26, 2012 – Epicure**

"You are not fooling anyone, you know."

Dog's tail bobbled back and forth as he scooted forward another inch, his belly still pressed against the dirt. Morrigan looked at him, raising her fork and chewing thoughtfully.

"Look, you insufferable mongrel, you will find no scraps from me."

He snorted lightly, settling his head against her knee; the drool from his ample jowls slowly soaking through the cloth of her robes.

"The templar cooked tonight. Would you degrade yourself for this?" She tilted her bowl towards him.

Dog cocked his head and whined, edging away.

"Perhaps you are intelligent after all."

* * *

**Mar 27, 2012 – Friendly Competition**

"That's eight." Nathaniel nocked another arrow and let it fly. "Sorry, nine."

"Just nine? Pah." Lightning erupted from Anders' outstretched palms. "I killed more than that with my first cast."

A bloodied head rolled past Nathaniel's feet as Oghren's axe whooshed through the air. "Whatever, nughumpers. I've killed more than both of you together."

Sigrun rolled her eyes and headed back upstairs, joining Elissa at the table in the kitchens. "They're still at it."

"Well, at least the cellars will be rat free." She snorted. "Men."

Sigrun nodded thoughtfully. "Bet we could beat them, though."

Elissa's eyes gleamed. "Let's go."

* * *

**Mar 28, 2012 – What's In a Name**

_'Why do the two foots call you 'Dog' anyway? Couldn't they come up with anything more original?'_  The ginger tabby yawned and stretched before settling in comfortably next to the mabari that was sprawled near the hearth.

_'Yes, well…'_  He paused and lifted his head to delicately nibble an itchy spot on his haunch.  _'They could have decided to call me 'Ser Barks-a-Lot.''_

Pounce sniffed.  _'Point taken. Still… it could've been worse.'_  He glanced over at the dozing nug that was curled up in one of the plush armchairs and snorted.  _'Either one of us could have been 'Schmooples.''_

_'True.'_

* * *

**Mar 29, 2012 – Terrible Twos**

"Wanna snack."

"Soon. Just a little farther."

"Wanna snack  _now_."

Morrigan sighed. "You just had one a mile back. Look, you can see lights up ahead where Lothering is being rebuilt. If you are good, we shall go into town tomorrow."

"No wanna go town!" The god child threw himself to the ground in a rage, his magic surging.

There was a loud explosion in the distance as the horizon blazed with light.

Morrigan stared for a moment before hauling him to his feet, still squalling. "You've destroyed Lothering. No supper for you, young man."

"No want supper! Wanna snack!"

* * *

**Mar 30, 2012 – The Virgin King**

Anora couldn't help rolling her eyes. "Do you seriously require a map? This isn't hard."

Alistair flushed. "Maybe for you. I'm new at this."

"We've had plenty of opportunity to practice. It certainly wasn't from a lack of effort on my part."

"I'm sorry… just… this whole business makes me nervous. Can you, maybe… describe everything again?"

Anora balled her hands into tight fists, enjoying the painful sensation of her nails cutting into her palms. "Fine." She selected the utensil furthest away from the plate and fought off the urge to stab him with it. " _This_  is the appetizer fork…"

* * *

**Mar 31, 2012 – Girl Talk**

"Maker's breath, did you see Teagan's ass?"

"Oh, yes." Leliana sighed happily. "And those eyes..."

"Mmmm." Solona grinned. "I bet that beard tickles in just the right way."

"Are you two quite finished?" Alistair huffed, his ears turning distinctly crimson. "I hope you don't talk about me that way."

Leliana patted his shoulder reassuringly. "We don't, do we Sol?"

"Nope. Now, Zevran on the other hand…"

"That accent makes my knees weak."

Solona elbowed her. "Are you sure that's not because of what he can do with his tongue?"

Alistair practically broke into a run. "La la la—not listening!"


	14. Week 14

**Apr 1, 2012 – It's Complicated**

Rylock had never realized how cold her bed was. Now, curled up against his warmth, she's not sure how she's going to go back to being without.

It was a huge risk—a stupid risk—bringing him here, but she'd wanted  _this_  too badly; the chance to lie in his arms afterward, to pretend this was normal.

As Anders' fingers caress her shoulder, she thinks about all the things she wishes she could say.

Instead, what comes out is harsh and cold, like this was just fucking, even though it's never been  _just_  fucking... not for her. "You should go."

* * *

**Apr 2, 2012 – Never Let Them See You Cry**

Isabela ran her finger around the edge of her mug as Hawke murmured something into Merrill's ear. The elf giggled, turning pink as he pulled her closer. Isabela caught Hawke's eye and shrugged, giving him a smile before draining her tankard and rising from the table.

They'd had something together, once, and she'd hoped—no, she'd known it would never last. Merrill was much better suited for all that love bullshit.

Strangely uninterested in finding company tonight, she made her way to her room alone; pretending that the ache in her chest was just from the swill they served here.

* * *

**Apr 3, 2012 – Ignorance is Bliss**

"So, that's where darkspawn come from? Disgusting." Zevran made a half-hearted attempt to wipe off his blades before giving up and tossing the sodden cloth to the ground. "I am covered from head to toe in a fluid I would rather not identify."

Alim dug around in his pack for a moment and handed the assassin a clean rag that he accepted gratefully. "Why do you think they have all those nipples? Do you think they actually use them to…? On second thought, I'd rather not even think about." Alim shuddered. "There are some things better left unknown."

"Very true."

* * *

**Apr 4, 2012 – In the Shadows**

He shouldn't be here, watching them from the deep shadows of the forest.

Lyna had fled, her daggers still buried in the ghoul that wore her dead friend's face, and he'd followed. But… the other Warden had somehow managed to find her first. She wept openly in Alistair's arms as he stroked her hair, pressing kisses against her brow.

Tendrils of jealousy wormed their way through his gut as he slipped away. Zevran smiled bitterly, wondering briefly if the weight of what he had done to Rinna would ever lift, or if it would crush him.

Maybe it already had.

* * *

**Apr 5, 2012 – What Not to Say**

Oghren ran his fingers over the soft, reddish fuzz that covered the baby's head, suddenly aware that his hands seemed far too  _big_. Blue eyes captured his own. "She's beautiful, Fels." His voice felt quivery and thick. "It's hard to believe she's ours."

"Believe me, after the events of the past few hours, I can definitely assure you that she's ours." Felsi shifted the baby in her arms and smiled.

"So, I guess you aren't as big as a bronto anymore. How weird is—"

His words were cut off as Felsi somehow managed to clobber him with her pillow.

* * *

**Apr 6, 2012 – Confession**

"Alistair, I'm so tired."

"Not yet, okay? You need to stay awake." He settled her against his chest, but there was no part of her that wasn't bloody and broken and she cried out in pain.

Flemeth had turned into a dragon! Convenient that Morrigan had somehow neglected to mention  _that._

"Need… to sleep…" She was starting to drift, her head lolling back.

"No! Wynne's coming." Her eyes began to close. "Don't leave me. Please. I love you."

He barely heard the whisper. "You love me?"

"Yes." Tears were falling unbidden now. "So, you need to hold on, okay?"

"Okay."

* * *

**Apr 7, 2012 – Baby Talk**

"Sodding."

"Saw-deen."

"Nug-licker."

The girl screwed up her face in concentration. "Nuh lick-oo."

"Sodding nug-licker."

"Saw-deen nuh lick-oo!" She clapped and Oghren tickled her under her chin until she giggled.

"Now, go find mommy."

"Go find mommy why? Does she need a clean nappy?" He jumped as Felsi's voice came unexpectedly from the doorway.

"No, I was just—"

"Saw-deen nuh lick-oo, mama!"

Felsi's glare would have stopped a charging bronto in its tracks. "This is what you've been up to, is it?"

Oghren shrugged sheepishly. "Well—"

"At least teach her a good one. Can you say 'bronto buttcheeks'?"

 


	15. Week 15

**Apr 8, 2012 – Simple Kindness**

They'd laughed together, once; been consumed by a passion she thought she'd never know. Now, she was beginning to think that  _maman_  had been right. She rocked Connor as he settled back into sleep, his hair damp and curled with sweat. Eamon wasn't here—why would he be? He scarcely noticed her now that she'd finally given him his heir.

"Is he all right?"

Her head jerked up. "Oh—Teagan. Yes, he's fine."

"Another nightmare?"

She nodded, so absurdly grateful for his presence that she nearly cried.

"Are  _you_  okay?"

The kindness in his eyes disarmed her. "No," she whispered.

* * *

**Apr 9, 2012 – The Weight of Command**

Nathaniel stared at her door. She was shutting him out. Again. "Not this time," he whispered, picking the lock and stepping inside. Elissa was huddled in a chair, her face still streaked with grime and blood. "What part of 'I don't want to see anyone' wasn't clear?"

Nathaniel knelt at her feet. "Don't do this. Not with me."

Her mask wavered and fell as anguish overtook her. "I killed them all. Burnt it to the ground. They trusted me…" She choked and he pulled her into his arms as she finally began to weep, her sobs breaking against his shoulder.

* * *

**Apr 10, 2012 – Victory**

"We did it. We actually did it!" She kicked the Archdemon's snout gleefully with her booted foot. "Take that, you bastard!"

Alistair laughed and then winced in pain. "You're crazy, you know that, right? Ugh, I think my ribs are broken."

"Aw, what's a few broken ribs?" She hugged him tightly, ignoring his yodel of pain. "Now, there's something I promised myself I would do if we survived this." With that, she kissed him soundly, her lips soft but demanding against his own.

Ribs? What ribs? He kissed her back, sure that his heart was about to burst with happiness.

* * *

**Apr 11, 2012 – Star-Crossed**

"You know we can never be together. We're just too… different." She raised her eyes and saw he'd stopped, watching her as confusion played over his face. "It's just… that we all have roles we have to play. Our time together was special—it always will be—but… it's gone now. I'm sorry." Her sword arced up and neatly decapitated him.

Alistair rolled his eyes. "We're just supposed to kill them, not play with them."

Kallian bounced past him. "You're just jealous that Larry and I had a love that will never die."

"I think there's something wrong with you."

* * *

**Apr 12, 2012 – Revenge**

"Oh, Irving, fill me with your huge, meaty cock!" Solona moaned loudly.

"Like this, my darling?" There was a groan and then the sound of flesh on flesh.

"Maker, yes! Harder!"

"Wynne, you are driving me wild with desire. The way your bosom bounces as I slam into you…"

The chorus of moans grew exponentially louder until Solona's scream of pleasure cut through the night air; Zevran's hoarse cry close behind.

-o-

"Good morning! I trust you slept well. I know I did." Solona smiled sweetly.

"Look… I… I'll butt out of your business." Wynne shuddered. "Just… never do that again."

* * *

**Apr 13, 2012 – No More Rhyming, I Mean It!**

"My acorn is still gone, so I pray to thee… hast thou any news for me?"

Natia groaned. "Look, we have your sodding acorn. Here." She dropped it into the outstretched—hand?—that reached out. "Enough with the rhyming. Seriously."

"My joy soars to new heights indeed. I am reunited with my seed."

"Oh, for fuck's sake," she muttered. "You know what? Dog, go ahead. I know you want to."

The mabari barked happily, trotting forward and lifting his leg.

The tree gave an indignant huff. "Water that does not appear to be. Please stop your beast from going pee."

* * *

**Apr 14, 2012 – Masterpiece**

He likes the sound that his quill makes as it scratches across the parchment. It's strangely comforting as he sits, curled up in the overstuffed armchair tucked at the back of the library; his ink bottle balanced precariously on the arm of the chair. No one ventures back here much—well, not to read anyway.

With a careful hand, he inks in the final details: the last few stripes on the tail; a battered helm between its paws; the tiger's name, delicately lettered on a banner that wraps around the devastation and carnage at the bottom of the scene.

Perfect.


	16. Week 16

**Apr 15, 2012 – Truths and Lies**

"Look at him! He's so tiny!" Elissa stroked the baby's palm and his fingers wrapped reflexively around hers. "What's his name?"

"Oren."

"Awwww…" She kissed the top of Oren's head before looking up with a smile. "I hope, someday, my own children are this cute."

Fergus hugged her tightly. "You know they will be. We Couslands are a rather fabulous bunch, don't you know."

-o-

"So…" Alistair cleared his throat. "Now you know everything I do. I'm sorry."

"It's okay." She stood, poised to flee before the lump in her throat could get any bigger. "I never really wanted them anyway."

* * *

**Apr 16, 2012 – Comfort**

"I don't belong here." Kallian tucked herself into a tight ball against Dog's side even though he reeked of darkspawn and blood and smoke. "I don't know what I'm doing or why everyone seems to think that I do."

The tears that trickled out ran, inelegantly, down the side of her nose and onto his fur.

"I want to go home. But, I can't go home… ever." She stroked the tips of his ears, comforted by the steady rhythm of his breath as it lulled her into an exhausted state of almost-sleep. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

* * *

**Apr 17, 2012 – Numb**

The water is as cold as the ice she can conjure, the numbness wicking up her fingers and into her hands as she trails them through the ripples along the boat's hull. She steals a look at the man opposite her and wonders what he's thinking as he stares ahead towards the shore. Is he regretting his decision? The knots in her stomach tighten as she thinks of Jowan and her own decisions that led to all of this.

Behind her, the lights in the Tower windows wink out one by one; a cluster of stars extinguished, leaving only darkness.

* * *

**Apr 18, 2012 – End Over End**

Isolde sat beside him on the bed; her perfect, beautiful boy. His breathing was deep and calm as she stroked his hair, smoothing errant strands around his ear. She wished she could forget what she'd seen; his excitement over the coloured flame dancing in his palm.

Why? Why him? He sighed in his sleep, looking like he did every night. But, it wasn't the same, not any more. The world had turned end over end around them. She couldn't send him away—wouldn't.

Silent tears fell as she kept her vigil, unable to leave his side; her perfect, beautiful boy.

* * *

**Apr 19, 2012 - Bravado**

When Alistair falters, she slays the tainted ruins that emerge from Lothering's destruction; a harsh mercy in the cut of her blades. After she's finished, she wipes the blood from her face— red droplets rolling down her cheeks—and stalks away from her companions.

They don't see behind the mask because she never lets it fall, afraid of the shadows slithering in. In her dreams, she is dragged back into the overwhelming despair of Dust Town and the little girl who hides there. Brick by brick, she buries her, building her walls higher until no one can hear her screams.

* * *

**Apr 20, 2012 - Peace**

They were tangled together, blissfully spent; Leliana's fingers caressing her bare shoulder. The slow gallop of the bard's heart beneath her cheek was profoundly comforting. "Do you ever wish you could just live in this one moment forever?"

"No." Leliana's fingers slowed. "Life is beautiful because it's transitory, because nothing can ever be exactly as it was the moment before. Being here with you tonight is sweet and perfect, more so because we are building on last night's memories. Tomorrow will be better still."

Solona lifted her head and found Leliana's lips with her own, and that was answer enough.

* * *

**Apr 21, 2012 – Awakening**

Urthemiel shakes his head, willing the fog to clear as he struggles to form any sort of coherent thought; every faint glimmer of understanding seems to skitter away and slip through his claws like flashes of silver.

Creatures swarm around him, reverently running hands over his sides until he growls and pushes them back. He can  _feel_  them humming in his blood, his power building until it hurts, and he roars; a defiant scream that drives them all to their knees. There is a sudden sharp pulse of clarity.

He will make them all fall before him.

He has risen.


	17. Week 17

**Apr 22, 2012 – They Were Chocolate Chip**

The qunari grunted again, rolling his shoulders slightly, though the pack on his back made it difficult.

"Need a break?"

"No,  _kadan_. I am fine."

An hour down the road, he changed his mind; his breathing laboured. As they all sat to enjoy their meager lunch, Sten groaned with relief as he set his burden down. "What is in this today? I do not remember it ever being so heavy." He missed Neria's smirk as he undid the buckles. "Rocks? Why do we carry rocks?"

"I think you know why."

"I… might have eaten..."

"Don't fuck with my cookies."

* * *

**Apr 23, 2012 – Interrupted**

"Is there anything better than this?" Alistair sighed happily, blowing on the mug of hot tea cradled in his hands.

Elissa leaned into his side, clutching her own mug. "What? Facing impossible odds… trekking across Ferelden and back…?"

"Well, yes… but, I meant this moment, right now. A hot cup of tea, a perfect night, some time… uh… to ourselves—even if we are on watch."

Elissa smiled seductively and leaned in, her breath warm against his neck. "I know what would make it even better. I—" She stopped, suddenly looking towards the treeline. "Shit! Darkspawn!" Hold that thought!"

* * *

**Apr 24, 2012 – Unwelcome**

Kallian jabbed her stick into the mud at her feet, poking at the dirt with a surprising degree of violence. She'd never thought she'd say it, but she would've rather stayed in the Deep Roads. She'd actually been looking forward to this; seeing the Dalish for the first time—her supposed people. Instead, they had been distant and unwelcoming, looking at her like some sort of mongrel that had turned up looking for scraps. The stick snapped as she drove it into the muck and stood up. "Well, they can kiss my ass," she muttered.  _Knife-ear, huh?_  She'd show them.

* * *

**Apr 25, 2012 - Beginnings**

She could do this.

It was just another ceiling—of a sort—and nothing bad was going to happen. Surely, if all those surfacers managed to live here with floating off or becoming sun-addled, then she could, too. She took a deep breath and forced her feet forward, through the large doors and out into the scorching brilliance of early dawn.

She stood paralyzed.

This was a bad idea.

A horrible idea.

Why had she listened to Duncan?

There was only one recourse. She fell to her knees and, rather spectacularly, ejected her breakfast all over his newly polished boots.

* * *

**Apr 26, 2012 – Home/Not Home**

Alistair scuffed his toe in the dirt as casually as he could manage while they all waited for Lyna to finish talking. Everything looked so… different, but with an air of familiarity that seemed to suck the breath from his chest. There were a few more houses now; the newer ones less dilapidated and worn. The people looked weary—even more than they did— and their faces were drawn and brittle like parchment dried and stretched too thin. His eyes inevitably drifted to the castle in the distance…

"You okay?"

Lyna's voice made him jump and he flushed. "Yeah. Fine."

* * *

**Apr 27, 2012 – Assassin**

He stood perfectly still, concentrating on slowing the thudding of his heart. It would be a few more minutes before the next patrol came by. The urge to check his daggers again nudged at him, but he was experienced enough now to ignore it. _No movement. Let the shadows cover you._  He focused on the pattern of his breath, deep and steady, although he couldn't help the grin that pulled up the corners of his mouth. The anticipation—the rush of adrenaline coiling within him—was intoxicating; He would never get tired of this. He was the best, after all.

* * *

**Apr 28, 2012 – Should've Let Her Sleep**

"Elissa, get up."

"Mmph. Five more minutes."

Alistair poked the lump beneath the blankets. "You've been saying that for an hour; I don't believe you anymore."

"Two minutes then."

He poked her again. "Nice try. C'mon, the Blight isn't going to end itself. Let's go." Alistair extricated a corner from her tight cocoon and yanked—hard—exposing her to the lingering chill of the dawn.

She shrieked and pounced on him.

-o-

"Whose turn is it to tell Wynne we need healing again?" She kissed the bruise starting to blossom over his eye where her elbow had accidentally connected.

"Yours."

"Dammit."

 


	18. Week 18

**Apr 29, 2012 – Only in Dreams**

Sunlight trickled through the shifting overhang of leaves, outlining the trunks below in a diffuse, golden glow. The grass was deliciously cool against the heat of her skin as she gasped against Tamlen's mouth. They found their release together, in the blissful warmth of the afternoon, after he'd kissed her softly and woven flowers into her long hair. She pressed her face into his chest and inhaled; the scent of leather and sex and  _him_. His smile was tender and strangely sad…

It was always the same dream.

Maybe one day, it would be enough but, for now, she wept.

* * *

**Apr 30, 2012 – Idiot**

The earthen tang of elfroot filled the tent as she carefully slathered the thick paste over his chest. Focusing on each gash—they were no longer gaping and bloodied at least—she worked in a sort of silent fury. He was unexpectedly quiet; an unspoken acknowledgement that 'yes, he had been an idiot to run into the thick of things before putting on any armor.'

She wiped her fingers on a scrap of cloth after she'd finished, finally meeting his eyes. "Don't ever do that again," she whispered before she kissed him, trying to pretend she wasn't trembling, wasn't crying.

* * *

**May 1, 2012 – Smite**

She didn't want to enjoy it, but she did.

At first, it had hurt; before she had learned to let go and not fight it. She liked the way it burned—blazing shocks pulsing through every nerve—followed by the euphoric rush of adrenaline and fear and a different sort of power.

It was always the best with him. The harder he fought her, the higher her peak seemed to climb before it fell as his magic ebbed away, leaving them both spent and empty and powerless.

Maker help her, she shouldn't like doing this to him… but she did.

* * *

**May 2, 2012 – Unexpected Praise**

The sounds of the armored templars crashing through the trees behind her had grown faint enough that she slowed to a walk, a small giggle escaping her lips. Pitiful fools… Surely, if they possessed any sort of intelligence they would stop coming here. With a flicker of magic, she changed form and was soon aloft, coasting over the tops of the trees; buoyed on the air currents as she circled back towards the hut. Mother had already returned, of course.

Morrigan landed gracefully, stepping free from her spell, as Mother gave her a rare smile. "That was well done, girl."

* * *

**May 3, 2012 – Harrowing**

His sword was drawn, the point balanced against the stone floor, and it was all he could do to keep his hands from shaking. He was glad he'd worn his helmet today, grateful that no one else could see the sweat slipping down his brow or the trickles that ran down his neck, making his shirt damp and sticky beneath his breastplate. His heart seemed to throb dully in time with the shallow gasps of breath from the mage who lay prone before him.

He prayed.

He prayed, his supplications a wordless cry of fervent desperation.

_Please._

_Not her._

_Please._

* * *

**May 4, 2012 - Reassurance**

"Kallian? Are you all right?" Zevran shut the door behind him and crossed the room to sit beside her.

She'd been weeping, though she hastily wiped her face and pretended to smile. "Fine. Riordan told us what we need to know to kill the Archdemon and everything is going to work out. Alistair," he didn't miss the way her voice grew raw, breaking as she spoke his name, "is going to be a good king."

Zevran pulled her close as she began to cry again, murmuring words of comfort into her hair. "It will be all right. You will see."

* * *

**May 5, 2012 – Truth Unexpected**

"There's no choice. Alistair  _has_  to be king."

His voice trembled with anger. "So, you will sacrifice yourself? After the way he shoved you aside?"

She turned on him, eyes gleaming. "How dare you? It's none of your fucking business, Zev."

Everything he'd buried came crashing out as his fury overtook him. "Did you ever think that he is not the only one who loves you?"

She was shocked into silence as he gathered up the shreds of the mask he'd worn so long. "Zev—"

"Forget it," he choked out before fleeing the room like the coward he was.


	19. Week 19

**May 6, 2012 – Seizing Opportunities**

"This is nice…" Neria stroked her fingers down Alistair's bare chest. "I don't remember when we last had time alone like this."

His fingers found hers, squeezing them to halt their downward progress. "You know, as much as I would like to… I can't help but think this maybe isn't the  _best_  time."

"Is there ever a  _good_  time?" She kissed his neck, scraping the skin lightly with her teeth.

"No, but, this isn't—"

A sudden clang against the bars made Alistair jump; Neria merely turned her head to glare at Cauthrien. "Do you mind? Kind of busy here."

* * *

**May 7, 2012 – On The Shore**

Dog lowered his head and whined. How could he be leaving? Couldn't he smell the  _magic-not right-blood_  in the wind that was rushing across the surface of the lake?

"Don't look at me like that." Alim crouched down before him. "There's just not enough room in the boat." The mage leaned in closer to speak softly into his tattered ear. "I need you to stay here and protect the others."

Dog whined again as he pushed his face next to Alim's, who, to his credit, didn't flinch away from the drool-laden nuzzle. "I know. I'll be back soon. I promise."

* * *

**May 8, 2012 - Peace**

Somehow, having a bed still felt like a luxury, despite the years that had passed. Aedan was waiting for him with a desire that was no longer ravenous, but simply  _was_ ; an undefinable immenseness of emotion.

Zevran lay down, his mouth finding Aedan's as his fingers traced a familiar path down the Warden's jaw to the faded scar that curved around between his neck and shoulder. He shifted to kiss it, running his tongue along the indentation; an absolution for his own blade.

There were no words as they found each other in the darkness.

They were no longer needed.

* * *

**May 9, 2012 – Setback**

Flemeth closed her eyes, her consciousness drifting across the miles until she found a suitable target.

Inhaling slowly, she opened her eyes; her vision anchored in her new avian form. The Wardens were here, and their small party had grown. She hopped closer, surreptitiously pecking at the ground as she tried to get a glimpse of Morrigan.

A sudden movement froze her in place and she was mildly surprised for the first time in a long while. A golem… interesting. It was studying her; could it sense she—?

Her connection was instantly severed in a burst of crimson.

Curses!

* * *

**May 10, 2012 – Hard Truth**

"You do the boy a disservice; letting them fill his head with these… fairy tales."

Maric rubbed his temples wearily. "I know. I just keep thinking, what's one more day, one more week, one more year… Let him have the innocence we didn't." He drained his glass with a grimace, already reaching for the decanter. "He's learning to fight. Can't that be enough for now?"

"You know it isn't." Loghain turned to face him, his arms crossed over his chest. "He thinks war is some glorious ideal." He paused, the hard truth needling in his gut. "You're raising a fool."

* * *

**May 11, 2012 – Sacrifice**

Her head was swimming. It was the first time she'd really understood what the phrase meant. The roar of the battle was muted; distorted sounds ebbing into her awareness. Had he actually struck her? What was he—?

A ribbon of clarity filtered down into her consciousness like a beam of light descending through the murk.

Alistair.

No.

She couldn't move—her limbs sluggish and unresponsive—as she watched his sword come up, heard the Archdemon's shriek as he drove the blade home. Her own silent screams echoed in her head... and the rooftop erupted in a blaze of light.

* * *

**May 12, 2012 - Absolution**

He reeked of drink and desperation, but it was the burning pain in his eyes that had made her agree. It wasn't about his usefulness, despite what she'd told everyone else.

She hadn't seen  _him_ , not really.

She'd seen herself.

They would chase after Branka, find her and bring her home... Even if she was dead, she wouldn't be left to rot; moss growing over her bones in a mockery of flesh.

She would go back for Tamlen, too—someday—and beg forgiveness from the earth, from the sky, from the trees that still held a whisper of his smile.


	20. Week 20

**May 13, 2012 – The Little Things**

To her initial surprise and guilt, it's not her parents that she mourns. It's not delicate little Oren; not even Ser Gilmore, the subject of many love letters shredded into neat squares of parchment not long after the ink had dried.

It's Nan.

Nan dressing her skinned knees; Nan soothing each broken heart with a mug of warm milk; being curled up in the warmth of her lap as they sat by the kitchen hearth…

With a lump in her throat, she pulls her blankets close; stupidly wishing for her whispered words that everything was going to be all right.

* * *

**May 14, 2012 - Childhood**

Nudging the final pebble into place, she sat back to admire her creation; a spiral of smooth stones nestled in the earth with twigs rising like spires around the edges. Enshrined at the centre, a burst of yellow; the best dandelion from the clumps that clung to the sun-soaked outer walls of their hut.

She glanced furtively behind her. Mother would disapprove. She should be studying, gathering herbs… not  _playing_. Her enjoyment faded like a cloud passing behind the sun and she kicked it all to pieces, leaving nothing but a mess of broken twigs and tattered yellow petals behind.

* * *

**May 15, 2012 – Drunkard**

She's unable to take her eyes away long enough to even pretend to drink the ale that sits, untouched, in front of her.

It's him.

As if she could forget.

His hair is longer, he's unshaven, and, he's clearly drunk; laughing a little too loud at the woman—her breasts spilling out of her shirt—that's draped herself across his lap.

Her heart contracts like a crumpled scrap of parchment tossed into the flames, finally realizing she should never have sought him out, should never have come here.

He doesn't look up as she leaves; doesn't even notice she's gone.

* * *

**May 16, 2012 – Self-Loathing**

She'd saved Redcliffe, saved Connor… and he'd attacked her for it, ignoring the hurt in her eyes; pretending he didn't see how much the decision had cost her.

Now, her face is flushed in the light of the campfire as she succumbs to yet another fit of giggles. The sound seems strange coming from her. The assassin is laughing, too, as he pours her another drink, and Alistair doesn't miss the way his fingers linger over hers.

He watches, his rage so thick he can taste it—furious at himself, at Isolde, at her—before stalking off into the darkness.

* * *

**May 17, 2012 – Infidelity**

The whispering stops as she enters; guilty glances flickering from her face to the floor so rapidly that they're  _almost_  indiscernible. With a seemingly careless wave, she dismisses them, frowning as they scurry from the room. She can't help the thought that claws its way to the surface, wondering if Cailan has already fucked—she allows herself the satisfaction of using the crude term—those two. A moment passes before she realizes her fingernails are cutting into her palms and she unclenches her fists.

She doesn't care what he does.

Maybe if she keeps repeating it, it will be true.

* * *

**May 18, 2012 – Good Intentions**

Dog nibbled his prize delicately, pausing for a moment to appreciate his handiwork before returning his teeth to the task at hand. The camp was still and quiet in the muted hush before the dawn; the first songbirds barely stirring in the trees.

Finally satisfied, he gave the rabbit carcass a few more perfunctory sweeps with his tongue before gathering it into his mouth and padding over to the witch's corner of the camp. Trying not to drool—too much, anyway—he deposited his gift inside her open pack before happily wandering away with a waggle of his nubby tail.

* * *

**May 19, 2012 – Sweet Stuff**

"What is it?" Neria poked the unnaturally colourful confection.

Alistair beamed. "It's a cupcake."

"A cupcake?"

"Yes. Didn't you have desserts in the Tower?"

She harrumphed, sticking out her tongue. "No, clearly they were giving all the good stuff to the templar initiates."

"Well, humour me. Try it."

"Fine." She took a bite, chewing thoughtfully as a huge smile spread across her face. "This… is… bloody fantastic."

"Told you."

"Now, strip so I can eat the rest of it off your naked body."

"I—uh—you—what—?"

Her laughter carried through the camp. "Oh, Alistair, I do love you."


	21. Week 21

**May 20, 2012 – At The End**

Alistair removed his crown, setting it down gently into the velvet-lined box. The symbolism of the act wasn't lost on him, and he paused to stare at his reflection in the mirror.

Just Alistair now.

The grey in his hair had finally turned the tide in its battle with the blond it used to be; the lines that feathered across his brow bore witness to long nights spent worrying about Ferelden and the successor he couldn't produce.

His burden no longer.

The road to Orzammar was calling, teasing his dreams with tainted caresses; its darkness pulsing sweetly in his veins.

* * *

**May 21, 2012 – I Want To Live Like Common People**

At first, there was the rush that he could get caught; dragged back to the palace to face his father's wrath at his carelessness. But, as time passed and he became his own man, it was the thrill of anonymity. It was so easy to rationalize—how could he be a good king if he didn't know what his people really thought of him?—and, if he was honest with himself, he liked the excitement of being hidden in plain sight, nursing an ale like a common man. It was just so glorious to be free, to feel truly alive.

* * *

**May 22, 2012 – Stress Relief**

He hadn't  _meant_  to do it. He'd been wrapped up in his role, laughing and drinking with the men who'd become his mates; the only ones who didn't treat him like the sun shone out his ass. They'd joked that he needed to loosen up… maybe he did.

Just a kiss.

Just a hand resting on the soft flesh of her breast.

Just her mouth, making him cry out loud enough as he came that the whole barroom cheered.

Just fucking, with no pressure about cycles and timing; nothing but pleasure.

Didn't he deserve a break, once in a while?

* * *

**May 23, 2012 – Inheritance**

The grimoire's pages smelled of magic, used to preserve the parchment now crumbling around the edges, and the tome itself felt heavier than it should. Resting it across her knees, Morrigan turned each page slowly as she tried, in vain, to quell the nervous tingling of excitement and dread; a delicious flare of defiance in her gut. She could almost hear the familiar scritch of the quill on the parchment; Mother's admonishment to 'be still and sleep already, you foolish child' as she fidgeted, restless beneath her blankets.

She ran a fingertip over the tightly scrawled words and smiled.

Hers.

* * *

**May 24, 2012 – Always Another Option**

Neria stopped pacing. "So, let me get this straight: We can either pick a wimpy old geezer with his head in the sand, or a homicidal nutjob that probably killed his family who's at least  _slightly_  progressive."

Alistair shrugged helplessly. "Pretty much, yeah."

"I say we pick our own candidate. We found Branka and the Anvil." She grinned. "That means we get to decide who she… recommended."

Alistair sighed. "You've got that look again."

"What look?"

"The one that makes me twitch. Fine, I'll bite. Who do  _you_  want to put forward?"

"Oghren."

"You can't be serious."

Neria grinned again.

* * *

**May 25, 2012 – Everyone Has Something**

"Oghren? King?" Alistair's voice dropped to a hiss. "Have you not noticed how much he drinks?"

"Have  _you_  not noticed what he's packing?" Neria elbowed Leliana conspiratorially. "I mean, there's 'wow,' and then there's ' _wow_.' Seriously, show him, Oghren."

"No, no, I don't—"

Oghren's pants hit the floor. "Hail to the king, baby. Heh."

Alistair stood utterly still, turning a heated shade of vermillion that put the rivers of lava to shame. "I can't unsee that, you know. I'm scarred for life."

Neria patted his arm. "It's all right, hon. I'm sure the Maker blessed you in other ways."

* * *

**May 26, 2012 – Kindred Spirits**

The moon hung low in the sky, dipping towards the horizon as if it hung from a bough laden with ripening fruit. Morrigan picked her way through the long grasses, grateful for the brief respite.

"You seek solitude as well." It took her a moment to find him; only Theron's eyes, reflecting the moonlight, gave away his position.

"Yes." She turned away, not startled to hear his soft footsteps as he joined her, and they looked out together across the great sky.

"I will leave you, then."

She surprised herself, something that didn't happen often. "No, stay… if you wish."


	22. Week 22

**May 27, 2012 – The Fall**

Those who walked the Fade awake called it the Golden City, its spires towering effortlessly over what appeared to be archway-covered streets. It glowed from within—orange, warm, comforting—like a roaring fire in the grate, chasing away nightmares on a frost-covered winter's night.

A refuge for the souls of the dead… until its light inexplicably went dark.

A black city now, stained with sin and radiating despair and decay, hung ominously in its place. In the shadows cast behind the Maker's retreat, the demons grew bolder—grew stronger—feasting on the fear that gathered in the hearts of men.

* * *

**May 28, 2012 – Fury Unleashed**

"You know what I think this is? It's not because I'm an elf and a mage or whatever other fucking flimsy excuse you want to come up with. It's because you're so fucking afraid of being abandoned again that you're willing to do whatever Eamon wants. He doesn't love you. He never did. He never will. _I_  do, you fucking imbecile, and you're willing to throw that all away?" Neria ran a hand over her embarrassingly tear-stained face and made for the door, leaving Alistair gaping in her wake. At the doorway, she turned to face him. "Fuck you, Alistair."

* * *

**May 29, 2012 - Dawn**

Her knees are already aching from being pressed against the Tower chapel's stone floor, worn smooth from years of supplicants seeking Andraste's blessings. She forms the whispered prayers without thought, having intoned them so many times now that they are a part of her body's natural rhythms; like her breath, like the beating of her heart.

Her mind is already racing ahead to her task and her hand slips down instinctively to touch the vial that has been entrusted to her. It's still faintly warm as she bows her head, pressing her lips to the carved hem of Andraste's robe.

* * *

**May 30, 2012 – Revenge**

It was raining now, the clouds having finally burst open while she'd been inside. Leliana's knees buckled and she sunk down until she was kneeling on the chilled, wet stone of the street. The tears she hadn't expected to shed grew uncontainable, and she turned her face towards the sky; letting the remains of her grief mingle with the cool rivulets of rainwater that trickled down her cheeks. Marjolaine's bow sat uneasily against her shoulder blades as the droplets began to pelt down in a furious torrent; washing the final traces of blood from her hands, but not her soul.

* * *

**May 31, 2012 – Rock and a Hard Place**

"We have little choice, Irving. My hands are tied." Greagoir leaned back and sighed. "The Grand Cleric is pushing for tighter restrictions as it is; says we're not taking enough precautions. We have to make an example of him."

"I know." The First Enchanter rubbed his eyes wearily. "Sacrifice one for the good of the many. I just wish the boy didn't have to be so damn stubborn. Do you really think locking him up is going to make a difference?"

"No, I don't." Greagoir grimaced and fell silent. "Better here than Aeonar."

"Yes," Irving murmured, "I suppose you're right."

* * *

**Jun 1, 2012 – In Death, Sacrifice**

They hadn't known.

He hadn't missed the look that had passed between them; a flash of fear as Alistair had unconsciously shifted closer to Elissa's side.

Foregoing the glass that the servant had courteously left beside the bottle of wine, Riordan drank deeply from the bottle itself as he sat down on the edge of the bed. Somehow, he'd always imagined this night shared amongst his fellow Wardens, facing the darkness of their impending sacrifice together.

"Duncan, my friend, I never thought I'd be doing this alone." He raised the bottle before taking another large swallow. "Maker help us all."

* * *

**Jun 2, 2012 – Epilogue**

As detached as he'd been at the time, Anora  _had_  looked beautiful at their wedding. Even more so, as she'd held their first child—a son—and he'd kissed her brow, still damp with sweat; the tendrils of hair around her face twisted into loose curls. In time, her unpointed, human ears had ceased to seem strange; his hands had grown accustomed to the slightly wider span of her waist. In time, the hollow shell of his heart had filled with something akin to love, though pale and watery in comparison to the vivid brilliance he'd felt so long ago.


	23. Week 23

**Jun 3, 2012 – No Way**

"You expect me to get up on… that?" Natia cocked her head to the side and blinked a few times before turning towards Duncan with a suspicious glare. "You know, I think I've been pretty tolerant of all this sky and sun business. Don't get me started on grass… or birds… or," she shuddered violently, "weather."

Duncan gave her an amused shrug. "We're still many days from Ostagar; we don't have time to—"

The horse whickered softly as Natia drew herself up to her full height and jabbed Duncan in the chest to punctuate each word. "Not… a… chance."

* * *

**Jun 4, 2012 - Binding**

The Archdemon's shriek cut through the air as a column of light shot upward, blinding her as the corresponding pulse of energy knocked her off her feet. It  _hurt_ , and she was unable to stop her own whimper of pain; a distant echo of the first.

Her body crawled with his presence, like flames licking down each vein as the magic compelled him downward; his essence casting out the soul it found there.

The pain vanished almost as soon as it had begun.

Morrigan rose carefully, her hands clutched possessively around her abdomen and the god who now slumbered there.

* * *

**Jun 5, 2012 – Necessary Expenses**

"Okay, let's see what you got and we'll divvy it up between the packs." Neria began pulling out newly purchased rations.

"Uh…" Leliana blushed delicately. "I spent the coin you gave me on these." She flourished a pair of sequined slippers.

"Seriously? What about the rest of you?"

Alistair looked down at his significantly less-adorned feet. "Cheese."

"Cookies,  _kadan_."

"Such foolishness." Wynne frowned. "I bought a book, but it was necessary for—"

"Yes, I'm sure 'twas quite necessary that we have our own copy of 'The Very Virile Viking.'"

Neria massaged her temples. "Please tell me someone bought wine."

* * *

**Jun 6, 2012 – Thirteen**

The blood on his face was already dry, like freckles spattered across his cheeks. He opened and closed his hands reflexively, watching flecks of reddish brown flake off and drift towards the floor. The action earned him an admonishment to 'quit fucking moving' from the Crow currently inking two feathered eyes on his chest, just over his heart.

He'd killed, was deemed worthy of his first tattoo; he should be happy… not shivering; not struggling to keep the bile from rising in his throat at the thought of the other boy's eyes and the unspoken 'please' that had lingered there.

* * *

**Jun 7, 2012 – Stay With Me**

She could feel his restlessness building, even as her own muscles sagged languidly towards sleep. Zevran stroked her hair as she lay with her cheek against the cooling slickness of his chest; the thrum of his heart coming down from the rush of their combined release.

Solona let her eyes close and her breathing deepen, clinging to the edges of wakefulness until she felt his fingers cease; felt him ease his body away from hers as he dressed silently in the darkness. She swallowed the burning dryness of  _almost tears_  and wished she had the courage to ask him why.

* * *

**Jun 8, 2012 – Never Let You Go**

It's the tiniest movement—a slight flutter of her eyelashes—but it's enough to shock him out of the grief that's been threatening to drag him under since he collapsed next to her shattered form. He's vaguely aware that he's screaming for Wynne as he tries to resist the urge to gather her up and cradle her against his chest. Her first breath is a choked gasp, bubbled and raspy, and then Wynne and the other mages are there, pushing him back as their magic surges.

He stands in a stupor as everyone rushes around him.

_She's alive._

_She's alive._

* * *

**Jun 9, 2012 – Betrayal**

When his fury finally leaves him, he's deep in the twisted alleys of the city. The buildings overhead are curled so close together—bowed heads bent inward, listening to each other's whispers—that barely a sliver of sky cuts through the dank, thick darkness.

He can't breathe; his muscles clenched and shaking as makes himself move forward. Hands creep out of the refuse as he passes, tugging on his clothes; voices begging for mercy. There's no hesitation as he dumps the contents of his purse on the ground and walks on; scattered coins glinting like stars.

He doesn't look back.


	24. Week 24

**Jun 10, 2012 – The Keeper's Curse**

Each night as he sinks down into slumber, he can sense them skulking at the edge of his dreams. They crowd around the outer limits of his vision; a whisper of fur; a shimmer of narrowed eyes cutting through the fog. Their voices howl with pain and confusion, but he lets his heart recede into the stone that is his chest and turns away. To let them go free would be to lose himself, and some part of him knows he changed, too, when they did. The fierceness of their hatred binds them together in this dance.

Let them suffer.

* * *

**Jun 11, 2012 – Put One Away For a Rainy Day**

Kallian's hands were perched on her hips, her scrawny arms jutting out into sharply pointed elbows, as she surveyed the corpse and the associated chunks that were now splattered over the walls, floor and, rather impressively, the vaulted ceiling of the Throne Room.

She turned to no one in particular, throwing up her hands. "Dragonlings in the Circle Tower, big freaking dragon hidden in the Orzammar Royal Palace…" They all avoided her gaze, by now somewhat accustomed to her fits of pique. "Can someone tell me why it's perfectly acceptable to leave dragons stashed away wherever you feel like it?"

* * *

**Jun 12, 2012 - Conception**

This one was special. She'd known it in the way his eyes had held hers—as if he was unafraid—even though they'd both known he was. He was lean and muscled with facial markings denoting an old bloodline; one she'd thought long extinguished.

It was as favorable a sign as she could have hoped for.

As they coupled beneath the stars, his body wracked in the ecstasy her magic provided, she felt the briefest stir of pity as his golden eyes dimmed.

She left what remained of him for the forest; the flicker of her new daughter strong within.

* * *

**Jun 13, 2012 – Sugar and Spice**

"So… you like frilly things, huh?" Oghren tugged at the bit of pink lace peeking out of Leliana's backpack. "If you're trying to impress me, you don't need to try so hard." Another tug and the garment came free as she wheeled to face him. "Mmmm… a thong. Tried to convince Branka to get one of these. She just punted me in the ol' marbles, but still…"

"I also have a longbow." She coolly nocked and arrow and aimed, point blank, at the soft flesh of his throat.

"Feisty. Heh. You know you're only turning me on more."

"Just leave."

* * *

**Jun 14, 2012 – Innocence**

"What is it, Mama?" She turned the strange object over in her hands, marvelling at its smoothness. The ivory triangle was bigger than her palm, polished and gleaming.

"It's a tooth. From Papa. He sent it with his letter." Felsi carefully refolded the parchment in front of her.

Lissy erupted with excitement. "A letter? What does it say? Does he miss me? When is he coming home? Is it soon?"

Felsi smiled—convincing enough to fool everyone but herself—and ruffled the child's hair affectionately. "He says he loves you and misses you terribly. Now, go wash up."

"Awwww… mom..."

* * *

**Jun 15, 2012 – Childhood's End**

She wasn't supposed to...

But, she'd only wanted to know more about the tooth; too impatient to wait until Mama was back from the neighbour's.

She read the newest letter first, excitement giving way to puzzlement. Monsters, battles… but nothing about her.

Nothing about loving her or missing her or wanting to come home.

Nothing about Mama, either.

The other letters were the same; a list of foes vanquished; bawdy tales she didn't understand.

She placed them all neatly back in the drawer, wiped her cheeks dry with the back of her hand, and went outside to wait for Mama.

* * *

**Jun 16, 2012 – Better This Way**

His hands were already shaking as he struggled to finish the last paragraph about the ogre he'd killed singlehandedly this morning. Just a few more words… He could already taste the whiskey that waited.

He hoped the nugget was proud that her Papa did such brave things, hoped she was happy... hoped Felsi was happy, too.

They were better off without him.

They didn't need to see him passing the time between falling into one bottle and finding the next.

He drank until the memories had dissolved into blackness, blissful numbness welcoming him in a familiar embrace.

Better this way.

* * *

_A/N: After much soul searching, I've decided to put YoDA on hiatus for an undetermined length of time. I have two other stories (one Dragon Age, one Mass Effect) that I've been writing and re-writing without seeming to make any headway and I'm feeling like I've lost my creative mojo. The ideas are there, I just can't seem to get them out and I'm starting to feel really discouraged. So, I'm going to take a week or two without writing to try and recharge my batteries and get myself into a better headspace. I don't want to predict what will happen with this yet, so please bear with me._

_Thank you so much to all of you that have supported me and cheered me on with this. I appreciate it more than you know._


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